


give me a call whenever, wherever (i'll be right there)

by earlgrey_milktea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 18:57:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13596312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: “Noct,” Prompto says, and there’s something wrong with his voice.“Prom? It’s, like, two am—”“I know, I’m sorry, I—Noct, can you, can you please—can you ask Ignis to come pick me up? I know it’s late, but I—” Prompto cuts himself off with a shaky breath."Please."prompto is the victim of a horrible prank. thankfully, he has a friend to call for help.





	give me a call whenever, wherever (i'll be right there)

**Author's Note:**

> i've been sick of watching the news but it hasn't affected me any less. i wonder why we're so scared of things we don't understand, but mostly i wish that we can be more curious, more understanding, more kind to each other. more than just "celebrate diversity," i want to see an attempt to learn and love diversity.
> 
> anyway, clap ur hands if u love prompto argentum (noctis only has two hands)

The chocobo theme song rouses Noctis from a very nice dream about reeling in the biggest fish in all of Eos. Eyes still closed, he fumbles for his phone on the bedside table, drops it twice before bringing it to his ear without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Noct,” Prompto says, and there’s something wrong with his voice.

“Prom? It’s, like, two am—”

“I know, I’m sorry, I—Noct, can you, can you please—can you ask Ignis to come pick me up? I know it’s late, but I—” Prompto cuts himself off with a shaky breath. Noctis is wide awake now. If Prompto’s wavering voice and hitching breaths don’t send the alarm bells ringing, the fact that Prompto is calling Ignis by his proper name certainly does. “Please.”

Noctis throws back his covers. “Yeah, ‘course, but—Prompto, are you hurt?”

“No, I’m—No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Prompto whispers.

“Okay, hang on, we’ll be right there, okay?”

“... Okay.”

 

 

 

 

Ignis has barely pulled into the convenience store parking lot before Noctis is unlocking the door and hopping out. He hears Ignis’ exasperated, “Noctis, please,” behind him, but he’s already halfway across the lot, making his way to where the hooded figure of his best friend is huddled on the curb, just outside the fluorescent light of the store windows.

“Prom?”

Prompto doesn’t look up; instead, he flinches hard enough for Noctis to skid to a stop. He has his arms around his knees, blond fringe peeking out from under his hood and covering half his face. As Noctis walks closer, slower now, his eyes pick out the mess of stains and dried globs all over the miserable boy sitting on the ground.

Eggs. Dried egg yolk and scattered egg shells paint a mess across Prompto’s upper body, from the nondescript uniform shirt he’s wearing to his pale freckled skin. His jacket covers most of it, and it looks like there was an effort to wipe the worst of it off, but this close, Noctis can clearly pick out the traces of stickiness and smell the raw egg. Something red and cold burns in his chest at the sight.

“Oh, Prompto,” he says, kneeling in front of his best friend. Prompto sniffs. His lips are pressed tightly together, but Noctis can see how it wobbles.

Brisk footsteps approach them, and Prompto flinches again. Noctis’ hands clench into fists. He doesn’t turn, but he hears Ignis falter when he sees the state Prompto is in.

Before they can ask questions, the convenience store doors slide open, and a short woman wearing the store uniform steps out towards them. “Are you Prompto’s friends?” she asks, hands on her hips. “It’s about time you got here, the poor boy’s been waiting for ages—Oh, my. Forgive my rudeness, Your Highness—”

“Ma’am,” Ignis says, stepping forwards. “My name is Ignis, I am Prince Noctis’ advisor and a friend of Prompto’s. Please, could you tell us what happened?”

“Oh, it was awful. We’ve heard of things like this happening around the neighbourhood, you know, kids from the upper districts playing pranks on us, but—Prompto’s never done anybody wrong! He was just there, doing his job—Prompto’s one of my best employees, see—when these rascals came running in and threw eggs right at him! They ran off as soon as I came out. It’s a hate crime, I tell you, but Prompto wouldn’t let me call the cops.”

“Hate crime?” Ignis asks, and Noctis almost wishes he didn’t.

“It’s not uncommon, you know,” the woman sighs. “And especially with the news on the war lately. Now, Prompto, see, he’s a very sweet boy, but there’s no hiding his colouring. I worry about him, you know, even in the Niff district here.”

Throughout all this, Prompto hasn’t moved. His gaze is fixed on his knees, but at the woman’s words, his shoulders hunch inwards. Ignis must have sensed this, because he takes a step forwards and leads Prompto’s manager away, asking about security tapes and witnesses. Noctis stays where he is, concerned eyes on his friend.

Keeping his voice low, he tries, “Prompto?”

A sniffle. Prompto’s arms slip from around his knees to behind them, tucked into his stomach until he’s all curled up into a ball. Noctis bites his lip. He’s only seen Prompto like this once before, and it took days to coax him out of his shell and back to his side. He doesn’t want to see Prompto retreat back into whatever darkness he holds inside himself that he never lets Noctis see.

“Come on, Prom,” Noctis says. He reaches out and lays a careful hand on Prompto’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home and cleaned up, okay?”

Eventually, he manages to persuade Prompto into following him to the car. Prompto refuses to let Noctis touch him. He halts in front of the car, arms wrapped around himself.

“Is something the matter?” Ignis asks from behind them.

Prompto ducks his head. “I—I’ll get the car dirty.”

Noctis exchanges a look with Ignis. Moving around the boys, Ignis pulls open the back door. “It’s alright, Prompto. The car is due for maintenance soon, regardless. Let us not block the convenience store’s business, shall we?”

It’s silent in the car as Ignis leaves the convenience store lot behind. They’re a block away before he speaks up again.

“Are your parents home, Prompto?”

Noctis glances at the boy sitting beside him. His head is turned away, facing the window, and from this angle Noctis can’t see his expression.

“No,” mumbles Prompto.

“I see,” is all Ignis says. None of them comment on the fact that he’s been steadily driving them in the opposite direction of the Argentum household since the first turn.

Prompto lets out another sniffle. Feeling frustrated and worried but mostly useless, Noctis reaches across the middle seat and carefully takes hold of Prompto’s shaking fingers. Prompto doesn’t pull away. Wordlessly, Noctis turns his head and allows his friend what little privacy he can get in the silent car. He squeezes Prompto’s hand and watches the rundown streets shift into the familiar landscape of the upper districts near the Citadel, wishing his apartment wasn’t so far away.

 

 

 

 

Ignis starts preparing hot chocolate, the one with the special mix and whipped cream and the little fancy marshmallows that he disapproves of but they all know Prompto loves. Noctis fidgets at the kitchen table, occasionally throwing a glance in the direction of the bathroom where the sounds of the shower running can be heard.

“Should we—we should do something about it, right?” Noctis says when the silence becomes too much. “Report it or something? That lady said it, right—It’s a hate crime.”

Ignis sighs. “It is quite disturbing to think these activities have been going on unreported, yes. However, we can only press charges if Prompto himself agrees to it.”

“He won’t,” Noctis says immediately, “He’ll just want to pretend this never happened.” A thought dawns on him. “Oh, Six, Specs—What if this has happened before? Prompto won’t—He won’t tell me because he doesn’t want to worry anyone.”

“That is indeed something I wish to discuss with him,” says Ignis. He takes the kettle off the stove. “That, and the fact that he is somehow taking midnight shifts in an unsafe district even though he is a high school student.”

Noctis frowns. “I knew he lived in the Niff district, but I didn’t know that things like this happened. That’s... really horrible, isn’t it? There’s—there’s policies around that, right? Aren’t there Crownsguards that patrol the area?”

“There are. However...”

“What. What, Ignis?”

His advisor sighs, a weary sound like when he catches Noctis staring blankly at the news discussing his father’s declining health. “The policing isn’t always viewed as a positive in such neighbourhoods. Usually, when certain events go unreported, it suggests a lack of trust in the authorities. The people living in those districts might believe that the Crownsguard do not have their best interests at heart, perhaps because of their... origins.”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

Ignis does not have a response to that.

Noctis stares down at his hands. “Does... My father knows about this. Right? Those people—Those districts, they’re still—They came to Insomnia seeking refuge. They should be allowed to feel safe. They _should_ feel safe.”

“His Majesty is a busy man,” Ignis says. “As is the Council, I suppose.”

“Ugh,” groans Noctis. He puts his head in his hands. “They deserve better,” he says, and he really means _Prompto deserves better_ , but he thinks about the rare times he’s tagged along with Prompto back to his place. The way the ‘guards assigned to him followed much more closely and more visibly as soon as they leave the upper districts. The way everyone stared blatantly yet skittered away as soon as Noctis turned his head. The way Prompto walked with one hand in his pocket at all times, eyes on the constant lookout even as he smiled readily for Noctis.

“Fuck,” says Noctis.

The shower shuts off. It’s silent in the kitchen by the time Prompto pads in, barefoot and withdrawn. He’s wearing his spare glasses. The sweater and pajama bottoms Noctis lent him hangs off his frame just slightly, but the way Prompto is still holding himself gingerly makes him look smaller than he is. Younger. Vulnerable. Noctis doesn’t know what to do with this washed out version of his best friend.

“Have a seat, Prompto,” Ignis says. He places a mug of hot chocolate, whipped cream wobbling and sprinkled with marshmallows and chocolate flakes, on the table. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Prompto says. He doesn’t comment on how Noctis and Ignis are both watching as he lifts the mug to his mouth. A dollop of whipped cream ends up on his nose. It’s such a familiar, endearing sight that Noctis can’t help the breath that escapes him.

Ignis sips at his own cup of tea. He fixes Prompto with an unreadable stare. “How are you feeling, Prompto?”

“Great.”

“Prom,” Noctis says. Ignis shoots him a look in warning, but it’s too late.

There’s a dull thunk as Prompto’s mug hits the table. A few drops of chocolate spills out the side. “Fine,” Prompto says, the syllable all but spat out of his mouth. His lips are tugged down into a fierce scowl. The expression is so rare and foreign on Prompto’s face that it makes Noctis physically recoil. “Fine, I’m _not_ doing so hot. What did you think? I just had an entire carton of eggs unloaded on me—I spent twenty minutes scrubbing raw egg out of my hair, and I can _still_ smell it. I feel fucking awful. What did you expect me to say?”

“Your feelings are understandable and justified,” Ignis says calmly. “What happened to you is inexcusable. If you’d like to press charges, your manager will coordinate with us to track down your attackers.”

The defensive anger bleeds out of Prompto just as quickly as it appeared. “I don’t want any trouble,” he says quietly.

“Prompto, you were _attacked_ ,” Noctis bursts out. “What if it happens again?”

At Prompto’s silence, Ignis leans forwards. He’s wearing his serious thinking face, the one Noctis associates with long meetings with important people whose names he can’t remember.

“Prompto,” says Ignis, “I need you to answer me honestly. Has this happened to you before?”

Noctis watches as Prompto avoids Ignis’ gaze. He’s chewing on his lip—a nervous tell. Noctis knows because he picked it up from him.

“No,” Prompto says finally. And because he’s a shit liar, he goes, “Getting egged is definitely a first.”

There’s a pause in which Noctis stares horrified at his best friend and Ignis’ mouth flattens into a grim line. Prompto tucks his fingers into his sleeves. He doesn’t look up.

“Are your parents aware that you are working odd hours three blocks from your house?”

“... No.”

“Is there a need for you to be taking this job?”

“I—Does it matter? Most people have part-time jobs. It’s normal. I just—I wanted some pocket money, okay?”

“I have no issue with your want for a job,” Ignis tells him. “My concern is you taking odd hours in a dangerous part of the city. If you had not called Noct, how were you planning on getting home? You said your parents are away. The buses aren’t running at this hour, either.”

Prompto’s shoulders go up. “I’ve walked home before. It’s fine.”

“If it was fine, I doubt we would be sitting here right now.”

At that, Prompto shuts up. He ducks his head and lets his hot chocolate go cold.

“Ignis,” Noctis says, but Ignis is already standing up.

“It’s late,” he says, “you two should attempt to catch what sleep you can. I’ll contact the school to let them know you won’t be attending class tomorrow—and yes, I will be picking up homework for the both of you, don’t make that face, Noct. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, and I expect you to be here, Prompto. This conversation is not over.”

The door clicks shut after Ignis, leaving the apartment doused in a quiet like a nervous breath being held. Prompto’s hands are still twisted together in his lap. He’s upset, which makes Noctis upset, which is terrible because Noctis isn’t well-versed in cheering someone else up. It’s usually Prompto who takes up that role. The overwhelming feeling of uselessness threatens to drown him again, but Noctis pushes it to the side. His best friend needs him right now.

In the end, it’s Prompto who breaks the silence. He gives a weak chuckle as he says, “He hates me, doesn’t he.”

“Specs? He doesn’t—He doesn’t hate you. He’s worried about you, really. He just shows it differently.” When Prompto doesn’t respond, Noctis leans forwards. “You do know that we care about you, right? What happened to you isn’t right, and we—we want to help you.”

Prompto blows out a heavy breath. “I know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you’ve helped plenty. Thanks for picking me up. And, uh, letting me stay here.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” Noctis says. He pauses. “I’m glad you called me, though. You know you can always call me when you need help, right? You’ll never be a bother, Prom. I mean it.”

Finally, finally, Prompto looks up at him. His eyes are still slightly red, his mouth twisted downwards, but he meets Noctis’ gaze and holds it. “I know,” he says, and for the first time that night since he picked up Prompto’s call, Noctis feels the pressure in his chest loosen.

After that, it’s like the bubble of tension has been popped. Noctis sits with Prompto as he finishes the hot chocolate. They talk about the chem test they had earlier that day (“Oh, shit, yesterday?” Prompto says. “This day has been _so long_ , man, time isn’t real.” Noctis agrees, though he has to admit he was highly distracted by the whipped cream still on Prompto’s nose.) and whether they can beat that boss in the latest game they’ve been grinding. Noctis lets Prompto direct the conversation, humming to show he’s listening as Prompto rambles until the tension leaves his shoulders completely.

A sudden yawn cuts Prompto off mid-sentence. He looks so startled by his own yawn that Noctis can’t help it—he bursts out laughing. Prompto throws him an affronted look, but soon he’s laughing with Noctis. Their laughter fills the four am silence echoing through Noctis’ apartment. It’s nice.

“Come on,” says Noctis. “Let’s go to bed.”

Prompto allows Noctis to tug him by the wrist towards the bedroom. He’s blinking slowly, exhaustion seeping into his expression. He doesn’t protest when Noctis nudges him onto the bed.

“Hey,” Noctis whispers after he turns off the lights and settles down next to his friend. “Prom?”

“Mm?”

“You’re very important to me, you know that?”

Prompto rolls over. In the dark and without his glasses, he squints to focus on Noctis’ face. “I know,” he whispers back.

Noctis reaches over and brushes his fingers through Prompto’s hair. Prompto’s eyes close, and Noctis watches as his breathing evens out. Drawing his hand back, Noctis studies Prompto’s sleeping face.

“I’m going to do better,” he tells the silence of his bedroom. “I’m going to make sure nothing like this happens to you, or anyone else, ever again.”

With that promise, Noctis slips an arm around his best friend and pulls him close to his chest. He falls asleep to the steady rhythm of Prompto’s heartbeat against his own.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> listen,, if square won't give us more brotherhood era content, sOMEBODY HAS TO.........  
> (i'm sorry gladio almost never makes it into my attempts at brotherhood era content. i'll try harder to bring gladio back to the party. come home, gladio)
> 
> as always, find me @puddingcatbae on tumblr/twitter


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